AudioBoxer
Aug 5th, 2002, 12:18 PM
There were two words Foxbow could use to describe the dock at 4 a.m.: dark, and foggy. Needless to say, it was also cold, and damp, and eerily quiet, but Foxbow was more worried about his visibility. Or lack thereof.
'Part of that ten grand goes into a telescopic sight with a nightscope first thing this afternoon,' he thought.
He heard a car stop, almost imperceptibly, about a block away. It was one of those well-designed limousines whose tires made more noise than its engine. A set of healights flashed on and off at him in high-beam twice; the car had had its lights off when it approached. Not having a light himself, Foxbow waved and jumped up and down in reply; that was enough. The tuxedoed shadows of one don and one thug emerged from the rear of the limo and came toward him.
"Mister bow?" the don asked with a thick Italian accent and breathy tone. He had one of those very long cigarette holders that you only see men use in Godfather movies.
"That's me," Foxbow replied.
"We understand youse is willing to pull off the job for us."
"For ten thousand bucks I'd watch the Mickey Mouse Club."
"Dat's good, 'cause if youse wasn't willing at dis point, we'd break your legs."
Foxbow suppressed a gulp. It wouldn't fit his tough image.
"Now, here's da job. Real simple." He handed Foxbow a piece of note paper. It bore an address. "A mister Charles A. Crackerbarrel is ready to sqeal, spill the beans, and crow about Da Mob's operation in dis town, tanks ta his workin' wid Da Mob for t'ree yea's. He's gonna testify next Tuesday, and it's all over da press -"
"I know. I read the Daily Planetary Bugle too."
"Don't interrup'. So his home's protected by two armed security guards. All youse gotta do is get past da guards and kill mister Crackerbarrel. Piece of cake."
"Er, I'm not too well experienced with stealth operations, . . ."
He looked at the don's and the thug's leering faces.
". . . but I'll learn on the job."
The don snapped his fingers, and the thug produced ten money bundles. The don took the top one off the stack and handed it to Foxbow. "One grand now, the other nine when youse deliver. By sunup. Oh, and if you get caught, and you squeal about us, you're dead."
"Right," Foxbow replied. "Nine thousand, squeal, dead. Got it."
Without another word, the don and his right hand man made their way back to their limo and out of sight into the night.
'This is too easy,' Foxbow thought. 'I said I wasn't very experienced with stealthy operations, and I don't think I need to be. Who needs to sneak past the guards when you can just kill them?'
Foxbow crossed the middle of the street right across from Charles A. Crackerbarrel's house - or rather apartment - taking out an arrow and testing his bow as he did. The guards hadn't even shouted anything at him yet; they must have been really lazy. He made his way to the front door of the apartment complex. There was a gate with one of those little phones for calling people inside the complex to let you in. He shurgged his shoulders; no poing in not using it. He picked up the receiver and punched 205.
"Hello, mister Crackerbarrel? This is Foxbow. I'm just calling to let you know I'm about to come up there and kill you. That's right." Hmmph, he didn't release the lock on the gate. How impolite. Foxbow replaced the receiver, slung his bow over his shoulder, went up to the gate, grabbed the wire mesh, and climbed the twelve feet to the opening at the top.
It was easy to drop to the ground and get his bow-and-arrow ready again. The single guard banging down the stairs after him would be even easier. The guard turned the corner, saw him, gasped, pointed his gun at him, and cried, "Freeze!"
"Really, officer," Foxbow said, lining the guard up in his sights, "There's no need for violence." He drew back the bow.
The guard, now terrified, fired a round from his revolver. Foxbow jumped nimbly aside, avoided the bullet, and loosed his shaft into the hapless police guard. The guard moaned, and fell.
Foxbow stood over the form, and spoke just before it died: "I had to do it. You fired first."
He grabbed on to the stair railing, flung himself over with his mighty right arm, and climbed the three remaining steps in one stride. Glancing the number 205 three doors off to the left, he sprinted toward it and kicked open the door.
"Gasp!" the one remaining guard inside gasped, and reached for his gun. Foxbow fired an arrow into him full force, which not only went right through the cop's chest but knocked him clear across the room and out the back window on the other side. These were very heavy high-speed arrows.
But Mr. Crackerbarrel had heard all this coming a long way off, and had leapt out of the front room the instant Foxbow kicked the door in. Considering that this was a bachelor apartment, and that the only other room was 3/4 of a bathroom, there weren't very many places he could have hidden.
Foxbow casually opened the hastily-closed bathroom door. Chuck Crackerbarrel stopped trying to remove the bathroom window and turned back to face the blue assassin, trembling with fear.
"Even if you did get all the slats off that window," Foxbow commented, cueing up another arrow, "You'd never be able to fit through it."
The man shook some more, then snatched a metal bulb from the counter next to him. The bulb had a grid over its entire surface and a ring with a pin jutting into the top, which Crackerbarrel put his right index finger through. "Hold it, F-F-Foxbow! One more step and I set off this hand grenade!"
"Oh, I'm trembling in my boots."
"I mean it!"
'Naaaaw, he doesn't mean it,' Foxbow thought. He pulled back the bow. "Go ahead, make my day."
Charles A. Crackerbarrel shrugged, pulled the pin out, and threw the hand grenade at the ground.
Foxbow gasped. This hand grenade had an impact fuse; it would go off the instant it hit the ground. He had no time to think, hardly even any time to aim. He let the arrow fly at the falling bomb.
The grenade struck the tile floor, spun around on its rear end, and failed to go off. Crackerbarrel froze, bewildered as to why he and Foxbow weren't blasted. It wasn't until the grenade slowed its spinning, in fact, that he could see the arrow lodged right in the hole where the pin used to be.
Chuck gasped, dove onto the ground, and frantically grabbed the arrow, trying to pull it out. Foxbow, also a bit scared (quite understandably), fled through the door and braced himself against the bathroom wall outside the bathroom.
"Oh my GOD," he heard coming through the bathroom doorway, "What have I -"
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>BLAM!<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
'Well, that was easy,' Foxbow thought. 'I didn't even have to shoot him. He blew himself up.'
Just to be sure Charles A. Crackerbarrel hadn't been shrapnel-proof, Foxbow peeked back around the corner into the bathroom. What was left of the place made him hunch his shoulders, pucker, squint, and turn his head the other way.
'Part of that ten grand goes into a telescopic sight with a nightscope first thing this afternoon,' he thought.
He heard a car stop, almost imperceptibly, about a block away. It was one of those well-designed limousines whose tires made more noise than its engine. A set of healights flashed on and off at him in high-beam twice; the car had had its lights off when it approached. Not having a light himself, Foxbow waved and jumped up and down in reply; that was enough. The tuxedoed shadows of one don and one thug emerged from the rear of the limo and came toward him.
"Mister bow?" the don asked with a thick Italian accent and breathy tone. He had one of those very long cigarette holders that you only see men use in Godfather movies.
"That's me," Foxbow replied.
"We understand youse is willing to pull off the job for us."
"For ten thousand bucks I'd watch the Mickey Mouse Club."
"Dat's good, 'cause if youse wasn't willing at dis point, we'd break your legs."
Foxbow suppressed a gulp. It wouldn't fit his tough image.
"Now, here's da job. Real simple." He handed Foxbow a piece of note paper. It bore an address. "A mister Charles A. Crackerbarrel is ready to sqeal, spill the beans, and crow about Da Mob's operation in dis town, tanks ta his workin' wid Da Mob for t'ree yea's. He's gonna testify next Tuesday, and it's all over da press -"
"I know. I read the Daily Planetary Bugle too."
"Don't interrup'. So his home's protected by two armed security guards. All youse gotta do is get past da guards and kill mister Crackerbarrel. Piece of cake."
"Er, I'm not too well experienced with stealth operations, . . ."
He looked at the don's and the thug's leering faces.
". . . but I'll learn on the job."
The don snapped his fingers, and the thug produced ten money bundles. The don took the top one off the stack and handed it to Foxbow. "One grand now, the other nine when youse deliver. By sunup. Oh, and if you get caught, and you squeal about us, you're dead."
"Right," Foxbow replied. "Nine thousand, squeal, dead. Got it."
Without another word, the don and his right hand man made their way back to their limo and out of sight into the night.
'This is too easy,' Foxbow thought. 'I said I wasn't very experienced with stealthy operations, and I don't think I need to be. Who needs to sneak past the guards when you can just kill them?'
Foxbow crossed the middle of the street right across from Charles A. Crackerbarrel's house - or rather apartment - taking out an arrow and testing his bow as he did. The guards hadn't even shouted anything at him yet; they must have been really lazy. He made his way to the front door of the apartment complex. There was a gate with one of those little phones for calling people inside the complex to let you in. He shurgged his shoulders; no poing in not using it. He picked up the receiver and punched 205.
"Hello, mister Crackerbarrel? This is Foxbow. I'm just calling to let you know I'm about to come up there and kill you. That's right." Hmmph, he didn't release the lock on the gate. How impolite. Foxbow replaced the receiver, slung his bow over his shoulder, went up to the gate, grabbed the wire mesh, and climbed the twelve feet to the opening at the top.
It was easy to drop to the ground and get his bow-and-arrow ready again. The single guard banging down the stairs after him would be even easier. The guard turned the corner, saw him, gasped, pointed his gun at him, and cried, "Freeze!"
"Really, officer," Foxbow said, lining the guard up in his sights, "There's no need for violence." He drew back the bow.
The guard, now terrified, fired a round from his revolver. Foxbow jumped nimbly aside, avoided the bullet, and loosed his shaft into the hapless police guard. The guard moaned, and fell.
Foxbow stood over the form, and spoke just before it died: "I had to do it. You fired first."
He grabbed on to the stair railing, flung himself over with his mighty right arm, and climbed the three remaining steps in one stride. Glancing the number 205 three doors off to the left, he sprinted toward it and kicked open the door.
"Gasp!" the one remaining guard inside gasped, and reached for his gun. Foxbow fired an arrow into him full force, which not only went right through the cop's chest but knocked him clear across the room and out the back window on the other side. These were very heavy high-speed arrows.
But Mr. Crackerbarrel had heard all this coming a long way off, and had leapt out of the front room the instant Foxbow kicked the door in. Considering that this was a bachelor apartment, and that the only other room was 3/4 of a bathroom, there weren't very many places he could have hidden.
Foxbow casually opened the hastily-closed bathroom door. Chuck Crackerbarrel stopped trying to remove the bathroom window and turned back to face the blue assassin, trembling with fear.
"Even if you did get all the slats off that window," Foxbow commented, cueing up another arrow, "You'd never be able to fit through it."
The man shook some more, then snatched a metal bulb from the counter next to him. The bulb had a grid over its entire surface and a ring with a pin jutting into the top, which Crackerbarrel put his right index finger through. "Hold it, F-F-Foxbow! One more step and I set off this hand grenade!"
"Oh, I'm trembling in my boots."
"I mean it!"
'Naaaaw, he doesn't mean it,' Foxbow thought. He pulled back the bow. "Go ahead, make my day."
Charles A. Crackerbarrel shrugged, pulled the pin out, and threw the hand grenade at the ground.
Foxbow gasped. This hand grenade had an impact fuse; it would go off the instant it hit the ground. He had no time to think, hardly even any time to aim. He let the arrow fly at the falling bomb.
The grenade struck the tile floor, spun around on its rear end, and failed to go off. Crackerbarrel froze, bewildered as to why he and Foxbow weren't blasted. It wasn't until the grenade slowed its spinning, in fact, that he could see the arrow lodged right in the hole where the pin used to be.
Chuck gasped, dove onto the ground, and frantically grabbed the arrow, trying to pull it out. Foxbow, also a bit scared (quite understandably), fled through the door and braced himself against the bathroom wall outside the bathroom.
"Oh my GOD," he heard coming through the bathroom doorway, "What have I -"
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>BLAM!<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
'Well, that was easy,' Foxbow thought. 'I didn't even have to shoot him. He blew himself up.'
Just to be sure Charles A. Crackerbarrel hadn't been shrapnel-proof, Foxbow peeked back around the corner into the bathroom. What was left of the place made him hunch his shoulders, pucker, squint, and turn his head the other way.